A Soldier Seeks Solace
by Colors of Music
Summary: For the silent soldiers. Rated T for slight cussing.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Lennox, Epps and Ratchet belong to their respective companies. I own my OC's only.**

It's hard to pinpoint the exact moment when I realized my home was just another battlefield. Maybe I've simply always known, but hooded my eyes in awe of these sentient beings. _Maybe, _I thought, _our home will be the final arena where these titan gladiators will duke it out in a one for all movie scene. _

I didn't expect Earth to become just another pit stop on their journey for destruction.

Chasing after an extinguished pride and glory.

Not too different from us humans.

So, here I am, sipping a whiskey in some bar-at-the-end-of-the-world, _her _dog tags clenched in one fist, this pen in the other. _They _should be looking for me still, 'less they've given up like- _[water splotches blur the next few words]. _

But I shan't spend another moment on them than is absolutely fucking necessary.

They don't deserve my attention – _she _realized this too late. I won't make the same mistake– goddamn her to the pits of Hell.

Oh but Hell would be all the richer for her in its claws.

I've been drinking liquid courage for the past half hour, on my sixth glass now, and I don't see an end in sight any time soon. This bar is full of the homesick, heartbroken and betrayed. I've never felt more at home.

Hah, I can see her now, shaking her head, a mocking smile adorning plush cherry lips (she never had a need to paint them). She'll strut forward, snatch the glass out of my shaking hands (I never was a stable drunk) and some lovable quote from a long dead poet about the side effects of alcohol on the psyche will roll off her wicked tongue. Then, with a toss of her mighty head and flick of a wrist too delicate for a soldier, she'll finish off the glass.

That's how she was; telling you off for doing dumbass things, but easy to enjoy the moment alongside.

But I – oh, how I was another being from her entirely. To stumble off the bar stool, head bowed meekly in submission, a mumbled apology springing from my thin crooked mouth - that was my way. I would refuse to meet her eyes for the rest of the night, despite her joking manner and attempts to get me to loosen up.

I do not drink to celebrate – I prefer to be aware of the festivities, the joy.

I drink for opposite reasons – so I can escape my chaotic sorrows.

I believe she knew this, and the fact that she still tried to _[sentence cuts off, water has soaked through the napkin]._

She often compared my eyes to a jungle – deep green foliage and sprouting golden flowers to hide the depth of what secrets lay beyond.

Her own were like a wading pool by the ocean – free to explore, and often overfilled with emotions. And yet her mind was a budding super nova; ever expanding and encompassing.

Or a mine full of gems: precious pieces of knowledge and wit to be treasured as it is gifted. My own always seemed to be ten steps behind, filled with the bare minimum compared. I was an unfaithful who had been found by a goddess, a traveling companion to the main attraction.

_[The napkin is ripped in a jagged line here; the pen's scribbling having torn through]_

I can't remember when we met, or the important moments – I should, God knows I've tried, but the images are fuzzy, fading away with time, pain, and every sip of this whiskey. All the memories I have left of her, so clear and concise, are the ones where we are alone, legs tangled up in cotton sheets, her hair wrapped gently in my hand, her lips on my neck, the moonlight illuminating her honey-oat skin in deep contrast to my own burnt sienna.

Memories of battle, where fear renders everything in high definition: each explosion, wound and scream assaulting the senses. My mind jumps around from one battle to the next.

There, a grunt's arm is blown away by Cybertronian shrapnel. To my left a lithe body goes flying. The screeching of metal on metal drowns out shouted commands. All I can think is _"how am I going to get out of this?" _

A year later, a new field, we're winning, pushing the 'Cons back. I can taste the victory, even through the rustic taste of blood where I'd bitten my tongue. My eyes seek out _hers _in confirmation, and my heart explodes with relief to note she too can feel it.

Six months earlier, and I'm going to die. Trapped beneath a fallen trunk, right leg broken in three different spots – I can see the bone sticking out. But I'm numb for the time being. All I can hear is a high pitch, my wounds clogged with dirt from the cannon blast that went off only meters from my position. The dancing metal feet are shuffling closer. My wingman is dead on the ground – I couldn't save him – and all I see is his slack-jawed expression of surprise as the tree comes down too fast, too heavy. Now the pain comes through the haze and the blood loss is creeping on. Bliss is not too far behind.

One week later and I wake up to sickening anesthetic and drab tan walls. My leg's suspended, there's a cloth around my head and an I.V. drip connected to my left arm. They tell me _she _saved my life – saw me go back for my wingman, but didn't see me come out. I call her in, the loss still bitter in my throat. But she offers a nectar with her words. In a month, all I can taste is honey when I'm around her.

We never went into a fight alone after that – always together; had each other's backs.

Until she put her trust in _him_.

He came back dead.

Nothing left of her but the dog tags with some ashes left clinging in the metallic strands.

* * *

_"Where are the others? Excuse me, sir? Were there any more?"_

_ "Nah, that was the last one. I should know – I was the one who kicked her temperamental ass out."_

_ "I apologize for any ruckus she may have caused."_

_ "Damn straight she did. Over here, snifflin' and sobbin' the whole damn time, rubbin' some metal togetha' that made some annoyin' clackin'. Tch, and then, when she really starts to lose it, I come over, good guy that I am, and ask 'you ai'ght ma'am?' and she bares her teeth at me, tells me 'less I'm another shot o' whiskey to piss off. So I tell her I don't need no black woman makin' one of 'em scenes- draws in the bad crowd, yah know?" _

_ "I highly doubt that, sir."_

_ "'scuse me?"_

_ "I mean, this joint's seedy enough. I doubt _anyone _could draw in a worse lot-"_

_ "Epps, he's not worth it."_

_ "Tch, take your trash and get the 'ell out of here. If I see you step foot 'round my lot again I'm callin' the 'thorities."_

_ "We are the authorities – you racist motherfucker," Epps mumbles the last part quietly, but his glare is enough to get a shake of the bartender's fist. Once outside, he turns to his companions._

_ "Lennox, you should'a let me finish back there."_

_ "Man, people like him; they see the world through a funnel and talk through their ass. He was too far gone to save with your well qualified beat down." Lennox tosses an arm around Epps' shoulders. "But right now, we've gotta find Sergeant Thompson."_

_ "I agree. While that man may warrant schooling in the meaning of equality and racism, Sergeant Thompson is a much larger bomb we must first diffuse. I fear her outbursts are getting stronger and, from what the internet has told me, they may soon be turned inward, if these," here Ratchet, the third companion, raises his hand with the bar napkins, "are anything to go by. Her mentality cannot take much more – and she says herself alcohol makes her unstable. I fear for those around her just as much as I do for her own well-being." A somber look is exchanged among the trio._

_ "Where would she go?" Epps finally speaks up. A brief silence follows before the sharp clap of hands._

_ "Dr. Thornton. I remember her telling me he's her personal therapist for her depression."_

_ "Time is of the essence."_

_ "You said it, Doc bot. Let's roll."_

**AN: By saying "meek" and "submission", I do not mean to infer that, as a woman of color, that is why she is like that. I say those words as a description on her personality as another human being – a human being with depression. All in all, I just wanted to write on some of the troubles of the other soldiers drawn in by the war. There are so many stories you could write about that, and this was the one I chose. I would also like to note that I have done my best not to offend anyone through this story, but if I have, please let me know. It was not my intention to do so, I simply wished to try writing from a different character than I was used to.**


	2. Chapter 2

"Thank you for meeting us at such a late hour, Dr. Thornton."

"It's alright – what's a night without sleep in a psychiatrist's life? Joking, joking fellas. Please, have a seat."

"Man, it feels like I'm going to get hypnotized or sumthin'. You going to ask me to 'start from the beginning' so we can re-evaluate my life choices or some shit?"

"No, I assure you … ?"

"Epps."

"Epps, I will not bring out the pocket watch so long as there is nothing to fix."

A tense laugh. "What- what's that supposed to mean, Doctor?"

"Oh, nothing at all. It's just – forgive me if I'm being callous but you're not… _like her… _are you?"

"Excuse me?" rings out sharply. "Like who? Man, if this is about my color again-"

"No, no, you misunderstand me, Mr. Epps! I am not a racist man. Some of my best colleagues and professors whom I've learnt my profession from have been men and women of color. No, I mean, you're not like Sergeant Thompson in your… _sexual preferences?" _ Another disbelieving laugh.

"Come again?"

"I suppose I should explain." Dr. Thornton pulls a cloth from his shirt pocket and proceeds to clean his glasses, his wary face strained. A terse line sets in on his lips as he replaces both cloth and glasses before leaning back into his chair comfortably. "As you can imagine, I was thrown off guard when she burst in here-"

**_Three hours ago_**

****_"Yes, yes, I'll be home soon as I can, darling. Mmhmm, love you too. Bye now." I put down the receiver and stretch back in my chair, feeling joints pop. It's been a long and overwhelming day filled with last minute drop outs and unexpected drop ins. But at last, it has ended and I can shed the troubles of others like a snake does of its old skin. _

_ Just as I begin to lean forward, there is a ruckus outside my office and I cock my head to the side, intrigued despite my weariness. Shannon, in her heels, is clacking down the linoleum hallway (the sound echoes through my open doors), her demanding voice having no effect on the hard, unstable, yet determined clomp of muffled boots heading my way. _

_ Suddenly, a well-built, tall figure bursts through my entryway before twirling and slamming shut the doors. I spring to my feet, a shout already rolling off my tongue when I realize who it is._

_ "Thompson?" She's panting, leaning against the door and trembling. She spares me a glance through loose locks, eyes puffy and red._

_ "Hello, Doctor." I stare hard at her for only a moment longer before making up my mind._

_ "It's alright, Shannon. She rescheduled an hour ago."_

_ "But Dr. Thor-"_

_ "I'd be grateful if we weren't disturbed, thank you." Once I am sure my secretary will not attempt to Rambo her way in through the door, I gesture for my unexpected patient to take a seat on the couch. She hesitates for only a moment before heaving herself forward and stumbling onto the cushions._

_ "Sorry, were you on your way out?" her gaze slides over my briefcase and lack of professional apparel before settling on a picture of my wife and I. _

_ "I'm sure you didn't rush in here to ask me what my dinner plans were," I jibe, settling against my desk. All I get is a soft grunt in return. "No rush, take your time. Remember what we talked about – compartmentalize your emotions, and then open each box one by one." There are a few minutes of silence while she chews over what was so important for her to come to me about so late at night._

_ Mary's going to throw a fit – but maybe if I take her out to that restaurant she's been haggling me about… Hmm, Shannon said they have pretty good Crème Brule and the steak's pretty decently priced. Maybe we'll go see that movie that just came out, with Harrison Ford…_

_ "She's dead." I'm startled from my thoughts when she does finally speak._

_ "I'm sorry," is my automatic response, which I immediately regret._

_ "You didn't even know her – how could you be sorry for a loss which doesn't affect you?"_

_ "Oh, but it does, Thompson," I slide forward towards the chair closest to her, not trying to crowd her in, but slightly shameful of my previous thoughts. "Whoever this woman was, her death is obviously affecting you, and in turn, as my patient, it affects me."_

_ "How so?" her words, though still biting, are curious. This close to her and I can smell the alcohol flowing through her system._

_ "Your pain over her death was not something you could compartmentalize and then deal with alone. You needed more help than a bottle could offer-"_

_ "_Don't _preach to me about drinking, Doctor."_

_ "I'm not accusing anybody of being anything other than in pain and confused. And I'm guessing you didn't find those secrets hidden underneath all that amber liquid, huh?" A tense head shake and darting of the eyes confirms my suspicions. "Alright, let's take this slow. Let's start with a name; can you give me that, Thompson?"_

_ She sucks in a breath, her eyes a little less glassy but more dewy than before. I lean forward onto my knees from where I am sitting, hands cupped, waiting. "Gamble." A croaking laugh bubbles up from deep in her throat as she brings a hand to her eyes. "I used to tease her by saying she bet on the wrong cards whenever I won a competition between the two of us." Her smile turns into a painful grimace. "She bet wrong this time, too."_

_ I place one of my hands on her knee in a comforting way, truly pitying her as she vainly attempts to hold back silent tears. "It's okay to cry for her; sometimes we have to feel sorrow before we can feel joy at the life we've known with those we've lost."_

_ "I'm not crying _for _her, I'm _wallowing because _of her." I cock my head to the side once more._

_ "And what did she do?"_

_ "Besides dying and leaving me behind?" I ignore her sarcastic remark and instead let the silence speak in place of words. "I loved- _love _her," she finally whispers and I pause._

_ "As a close friend?"_

_ "The closest you can get to another human being." Slowly, I retract my hand and lean back._

_ "Surely this pain is causing you to confuse your strong bond of friendship for one of another. Now, Thompson, you cannot love someone who has caused you so much pain." Halfway through my speech, her hand left her face, and by the end of it, she was glaring at me murderously. _

_ "How dare you assume to know what I felt for her." I allow myself a slight chuckle at the irony of her statement._

_ "Well, I do have a doctorate in exactly that. But let's be serious here for a moment, Thompson. This friend of yours-"_

_ "_My love-"

_"-whom you had a strong bond with has recently died. You're upset and confused and must feel betrayed, correct? Did you two work together?"_

_ "She was my partner – on and off the battlefield."_

_ "I see… so, you two were –"_

_ "No," she mumbles regretfully, turning to stare out my floor-to-ceiling window. "We were going to make it official this fall." _

_ "Ah," I breathe. "So, you were just experimenting then." Her head whips back to me._

_ "Haven't you been listening? We were going to _get married. _I hardly call that experimenting," she huffs out. But I shake my head._

_ "No, see, this makes sense. See, perhaps what she felt for you was nothing more than a curiosity, and _that_ I can understand. Perhaps she saved your life and you felt in debt to her. Anyways, she promises to marry you but then goes off and gets herself killed. You're left feeling heartbroken over the loss of one you cared about, upset because you realize she left you at the altar, per-say, and confused because you aren't really sure if what she felt for you was as strong as you did her. I see now what we have to do."_

_ "Oh, do enlighten me."_

_ "You must leave her behind." Thick silence. _

_ "What?" She seems hard put to even utter the word._

_ "Yes, leave her behind. See, she's become an obsession to you. An object which you've fixated your gaze upon. Don't let her take all of your… _love … _with her. There are much bigger fish in the sea. See, if you can just forget about her, like a one night stand for example, then-" I'm interrupted by her abrupt movement, suddenly up close and personal with her furious face._

_ "Listen here you ignorant _fuck," _she spits out. "You seem to be blinded by your own damn prejudice so I'm going to spell it out for you loud and clear – she was not some goddamn one night stand, nor an experiment gone wrong. She was my _lover. _My one and _only. She _proposed to _me. _And she loved just as deeply as I did. I will not _stand _to have you smear her name in such absurdity. She was a wonderful, caring, unstoppable woman who would have moved mountains and stars to stay by my side – and I hers. So don't you dare try to insinuate she was nothing more than a 'bump in the road', do you understand me?" Shakily, I slap a smile on my face._

_ "W-well, now, s-see. Th-this session has done you some go-good. You're talking about her in the p-past tense, already!"_

_**Present Time**_

****"Is that how you got-" Epps points to his left eye, both him and Lennox staring at the man in incredulity.

"Unfortunately, yes," Dr. Thornton rubs his nose, pushing his spectacles up into his hairline. "She didn't take so well to my… choice of wording."

"Well, sir," Lennox hesitates on the 'sir', biting back the heavy implications he wants to put into the one word. "You've been most helpful. Did she happen to say where she was headed?"

"Well, when she walked out I was on the floor writhing in pain so, no, can't say I know. However, I do know she likes to contemplate our sessions atop her apartment building."

"Contemplate your… sessions? Really?" Lennox and Epps share a disbelieving look.

"Yes, she told me herself. Might be there tonight. Though I warn you boys – she is highly reactive."

"Yes, we can see that."

**_Outside_**

"He's a very colorfully worded man."

"You can say that again. Jesus, what is with people tonight?"

"I know, man. First, Sergeant Gamble's death, and then that racist bartender. Now, a homophobic therapist – one who she thought she could trust. I'm really feeling her pain, Epps."

"Yeah, me too."

"Did you two find anything of substantial use?"

"Yeah, lots of information actually. This girl's life – it ain't no cakewalk."

"I do not see how she has time to walk on cakes as a soldier."

"Uhm, never mind. Look, Dr. Thorn-in-the-ass said she likes to hang around atop her apartment building after their sessions. She might be there, it's worth a look."

"Indeed. I recall - aren't tall heights a favorite form of suicide for your kind? And if this Doctor of hers is an oppressive man as you've implied, then-"

"Oh, shit, I didn't even- alright, let's go, now!"

"Let's hope we are not too late."

**_D_**_i__**d you enjoy my attempt at "comic relief" there at the end? Like Shakespeare before the tragedy**__._


	3. Chapter 3

"This is my final goodbye." I walk slowly towards my building's edge, camera steady in my sober hands. "Cleaned things up a little – gave me time to think about Dr. Thornton, about this war… about you." I suck in and bite on my lips, closing my eyes and inhaling deeply. "Charlotte." Her name rolls off my tongue and takes wing in the air, no longer mine to cherish on bold nights stolen between shifts, or on lazy summer days beneath willow trees for all to see.

I look up towards the moon, but cannot see it through the city's neon glare. Only a few brave stars make it through, though eventually they too will be snuffed out behind the whitewash of human light. I redirect my gaze forward, finally coming to a stop at the very edge of the building, and lean my body against the mid-stomach brick wall.

"The weight you've left me with is heavy. Immobilizing. Do you know what it's like to lose myself for a second, to believe you'll be waiting for me at the end of the day, Johnny Cash flowing from your stupid out of date speakers in your stupid broken down car? That we'll head to some movie theater and catch a chick flick, have a late night dinner. Or maybe we'll go to my place and just have a Disney movie marathon while I try not to burn the third batch of spaghetti that night." My throat catches and I have to stop as a sob wracks my body.

Even through the darkness of my eyelids, the lights burn through, forcing me to open my eyes. "I can't find escape. I can't forgive you for leaving me. I told you not to go without me. You always thought you were invincible," I cough out a laugh between my sniffling. "How many gambles did you have to lose before it sunk in?

… Did you think of me in your last moments? What was I like? What memory did you hold close?

Or was it quick? When your hopes were high you could defeat those assholes? I hope it was painless. Like the time you've given to me." I pause, my eyes lighting on two shadows dancing around one another across the way behind closed curtains. "Ah, they remind me of us – how we were, back when the dance steps were still new to us. I remember, one time, when I was just re-learning to walk again from the incident, you took me on a stroll through the park. Kids were everywhere, getting in the way of my crutches, making me angrier and angrier until, finally, I snapped at one of them, demanding to know why they thought it was a good idea to try and trip a wounded soldier. Poor kid," I laugh, sounding like a bell, and am pleasantly surprised I still can. "He fell right on his butt and cried and cried. I was so embarrassed, but my anger was bigger."

I stand up, drawing the camera across the city slowly, capturing the flickering lights, like overgrown fireflies in the night. "I remember trying to pull you along with one hand, telling you to just leave him, he'll get over it. But you, you squatted down right beside him. And you proceeded to destroy my angry, hard-ass image stupid story by stupid story. Eventually, his sobbing quieted, and then, like a miracle, he was laughing – as well as the crowd of kids you'd amassed during your story time. But that's how you were… you always managed to find a way to make someone see another as just a human being – not some scary monster or invincible goddess." I halt, camera focused in between the buildings on the horizon. "Yeah, you always reminded me you had your downfalls too. Like how you refused to get up in the morning until I'd tried six ways from Sunday to get you out of bed. Or when I ate too quickly, or didn't compliment you enough. The way you snored in your sleep - Jesus, Mary and Joseph how you snored!" I laugh again, this time a bit louder, watching the video screen as scraps of light whisk out from behind the horizon line. "Yep, and the little fits you would throw when my logic was more reasonable than yours. Or the way you'd sulk around the house when I ate the last Oreo." By now tears were running freely down my face, catching on the corners of my smile. "Yeah, you were as human as the next of us… And I can't believe I ever forgot that."

Far beyond my reach, somewhere distant in space, the sun broke the night's grasp of the land, slowly warming blanketed hearts, awakening darkened minds.

"All these past hurts and grievances, they don't belong with the new day. They aren't meant to rule us throughout the week. We the living have a choice to make. You had to make yours that day, didn't you? Wait for me to say goodbye (because you weren't going to let me come along anyways, were you?) or save precious seconds which could save a life and leave then and there." I smile gaily at the realization. "You knew I'd find your love through the hurt… What was it you used to say? We've all got choices to make – about life and death and other's consequences. It's about time I started listening to you." I sniff and wipe my eyes with my free hand. "What good is ending things now when there's still so much I've got left to do? All these people today – the ignorance and fear of the unknown. I've gotta fix that. You always told me I could, too. Took me long enough to believe yah." A laugh is ripped from me, and with it a weight breaks free – no longer mine to hold.

"I've spent the past twenty four hours searching for answers. I'm tired. I've been beaten down, kicked aside, left for fate to chew on like a bone. But you never backed down. You went into the fray, head held high, voice yelling in a battle cry. So I will, too… Thank you, Charlotte, for everything. Someday doesn't mean today, so I'll just leave this here so you can watch the sunrise, darling. I've got work to do."

* * *

_The screen shakes a little as the camera is placed down on the ledge. _

_ Slowly the sun rises in the East, a spray of rose, topaz and amber painting the sky. _

_ The three men look up to a mid-morning sun, blinding from where it sits in the periwinkle sky. _

_ "It would seem humans have a way of healing themselves without the use of medicine."_

_ "Yeah," comes the thoughtful reply. "I guess we do." Lennox brings his head back down to the camera but the battery has died._

_ "It'll take time, you know. She's still at risk," Ratchet intones. "I'd like to keep an eye on her for the next few months."_

_ "I'm sure she wouldn't have a problem with that, Ratchet. And, hey, she might even take you on as her new therapist – Lord knows the girl needs an anger management coach," Epps speaks up from his new position by the ledge, one leg propped up, elbows resting on his thigh. "You know, the view ain't so bad from up here."_

_ "I think she knew that, too," Lennox mutters, thoughtful in his gaze._

_ Below, life went on, pushing along its occupants, never leaving one behind, always handing out the test before the lesson can be learned._

**_AN: Hope you've enjoyed my little three part spheel. Comments are greatly appreciated. As is constructive criticism. Thanks for reading!_**


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